Undead Dearest
by Serpent Folmae
Summary: A story about a necromancer who tries to understand himself and his involuntarily cruel tendencies, with the assistance of an undead sorcerous, a former nazi leader, and a fire golem with a rather limited vocabulary.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Diablo. The sad truth. Right there. Now knowing that, read the fanfiction.  
  
Undead Dearest  
  
By Lost (Serpent Falme)  
  
The man sat, staring at the fire. The flames tickled and flowed against his gray eyes. He took a view of the encampment; everyone he laid eyes upon would just snap their head away. They hated him, he knew it. Why hate him? Simple, he studied Necromancy. It was what he was; he couldn't change himself, it was what he did best. And for that people hated him, every single prejudice one. A "freak" was he called? Yes, that was it, a evil freak of nature. Always pointing, always mocking, "Eww. You work with dead stuff!" Or "Don't kill me mister pale freak!" How about, "HA! You're so young and you already have gray hair." Insult shot at him, each one hurting like a bullet, each one aimed to his heart. Ignore it, he was told countless times by the few who actually cared about him. What did they know? How can you ignore something so painful? People hate you, for God's sake. As in, would kill you if they could, would suffocate you with the darkness the held in their hearts. How would anyone know how that felt? And yet, it was just a normal day for a Necromancer. Always grim. Always sad. Because of people. Because of what they made him. You don't make yourself. Others do. With their words, their statements, their emotions, that's what molds you. And hate, that's what molded him, the isolated Necromancer. Not even blinking an emotionless eye, he got up from the fire, and made his way to Akara, the priestess of the encampment. He didn't know what he was doing, but it was soon happening.  
  
A/N: Another chapter will be coming up soon. Please R/R. 


	2. The Den of Fast Food?

A/N: Did I say another chapter was coming SOON? Okay, in two years, I've finally updated, you don't want to know the story. Well, the Den Of Evil is now up.  
  
Disclaimor: See Chapter 1, I'm too lazy to say this again.  
  
The necromancer talked to Akara, and knew his quest. He was to bust into some cave, and kill all it's inhabitants. Seemed simple enough. He solemnly nodded and set off to find the Den Of Evil, ignoring those who were attempting to burn him with their looks.  
  
He sighed, glad to be out of the Rogue Encampment. 'God, isn't it ever morning in this place?' He thought to himself as his eyes followed a raven, who was flying from branch to branch of a worn tree. There was something strange about that raven.He could have sworn it's tiny, black eyes were making contact with his. No use pondering over such a pathetic thought. He gave a bored yawn, and made a non-chalant movement with his black-gloved hand. But what seemed like a simple gesture, soon was the result of a flaming hulk of, well, something. "Good morning Laurence. I do hope you had a nice nap, for today we have things to do. You are to seek everything which has a dark, evil aura, and not me, mind you. Ergh, to keep it simple, just find bad guys, and kill them, okay?" The golem nodded, and as a word of acknowledgement, muttered, "Poop." The necromancer groaned, "Oh Goddamit Laurence! That's all you been saying for the past two months now! I new that nasty Bloody Marie was a bad influence on you! Blood Golems are so stupid and immature, I have to get you an Iron Golem for a new friend."  
  
"Forgetting someone, aren't we?"  
  
A skeleton mage stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, my fellow minion." The skeleton's burning red hands blazed in fury, "Don't you dare call me that! It's your fault.I'm, I'm.like this!" The necromancer sighed, and thought about what had happened. Granted, the skeleton wasn't always undead. In fact, it used to be a Sorceress he had met one of his travels. When he had, she appeared to be in quite a tight squeeze, so he tried to help out. She didn't appreciate him butting in, and yelled something about experience stealing. In this distraction she was then impaled by a sword and dutifully died. The necromancer felt terribly sorry for her, necromancers DO have feelings, you know. He was also feeling generous, so he gave her a second chance at life. BAD. FREAKING. IDEA. Since then the crazed undead woman hadn't stop screaming and bickering until they got to the Rogue encampment. Another voice from the shadows interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"MEIN GOTT! How can you fools forget the ruler of all!" and out came a skeleton with a sword and shield gripped tightly, and a Nazi symbol hanging proudly from it's shoulder. Now THIS was a story. When the necromancer was a little boy of about 4, he was playing in his sandbox, when he heard a rustling in the trees. Curious, he lifted his plump face and eyed a sight that no child his age should bear. It was a zombie, in a Nazi uniform, moaning about brains in german. It was, in fact, the zombie of none other than Adolph Hitler! In a blinding flash of a blue, foreboding light, Hitler found a bone impaled between his eyes, and then flopped to the ground, dead. The necromancer bawled and ran tear streaked to his mother, who, when expecting the kill, immediately ran through town showing everyone the corpse her toddler had killed. And it was no wonder, he was the youngest necromancer to kill something, much less use a bone spear! The necromancer wished his mother hadn't done so, though, for the poison gas was fuming out of the corpse, and it resulted in him being quite sick for a few weeks. It was his 5th birthday that his mother announced she and her father had a big surprise for him. The necromancer was filled with joy, until he saw what it was: the zombie he had killed, which his parents took the duty to revive into a skeleton. "He's a bit noisy, son, but now your first kill will serve you faithfully forever! Oh, we're so proud!" the necromancer went crying up to his room, it was, without a doubt, the worst birthday present ever. Oh well, even though Hitler had been reduced from the evil, feared Nazi commander into a skeleton. But at least it was a MIGHTY skeleton. Being with a necromancer for a good portion of his life didn't make him a weakling, mind you.  
  
"So what's the plan, Ismodale?" And so the necromancer's name was revealed. "We have to go to something called the Den of Evil, and basically kill everyone in it." And so the group reached the Den of Evil with great ease, since all the demons happened to be on their lunch break. Upon passing though the dark, ghastly opening of the cave, they beheld a great building, with large letters, reading, "McDiablo's". "What. The hell. Is that?" the skeleton mage gauked. "I suspect that it is a base for the demons here. I'll go inspect it, I suppose." Ismodale walked cautiously into the building, and out of instict, walked up to the counter, where he was met by Corpsefire. "Hello sir, may I take your order?" Ismodale looked around and shrugged, "Whatever you feel is best, I am not accustomed to these.items."  
  
"Okay, that'll be a Soula, Bleedburger, and French Dies." In a second Ismodale was handed a piping hot tray of beefy goodness. He looked at it and stared blankly, then sipped the cup. "This is soda." Corpsefire waved his arms in the air, "Oh no, sir! It is soula, you must call it that!" He looked frantically, hoping the demon customers hadn't heard that the "demonic" feast they were having wasn't "demonic" the least. But Ismodale kept observing, "And this is just a Cheeseburger, and some French Fries. And I can get this at half price at McDonald's!" the demons had heard now, and were giving angry shouts at the discovery that they had been cheated. Corpsefire covered his face desperately with his skeletal arms, "AGH! Don't blame me, I just work here!!!" Ismodale looked around, "Agh, what the hell am I doing?" with that he let out a huge barrage of green wisps of poisonous doom. Everyone was hit. One of the demons piped up, "Hey, what's the big deal? All ya did was turn us green! What'd you use, food coloring or some-GAAAAAGH!!!" then they all fell down. Ismodale gave his common sigh, he disliked poison nova. It always had that same drawn out effect, he'd rather of been a sorcerer, then he could have, like, static nova, and they'd all die instantly. It'd be a lot cooler, that way. He then made his way behind the counter, and was amazed by the sight. Everywhere, everywhere, food! Food galore! Come to think of it, the Rouge Encampment was having a problem with food, weren't they? If he were to bring all this, oh yeah, big reward. It was then that his minions rushed in, "Ismodale! It's so strange! Light is flowing in the cave.but it's a freaking cave! What the hell is happening?!" Ismodale looked again and nodded, "It's been cleansed. Now help me with the food, if you will." 


	3. Finding A Raven

Disclaimor: See chapter 2...which will lead you to see chapter 1. So why didn't I just say see chapter 1? I don't know, what do you want from me!

Tanya the rogue looked at the black parcel of meat on her wooden(complete with splinters here and there) plate. Mmmm, nothing better than good old homecooked needle rat...or spike fiend, can't really tell at this point. Tanya sighed in disgust as she sunk her teeth, long worn from malnutrition, into the food. Who was she kidding? She was even tempted to try zombie meat after tasting this stuff, but apparently there was some long kept rogue law against cannabalism, besides the zombies already being dead. Damn loopholes. And damn the fallen ones! Those tiny freaks were so numerous they had in only a few months devoured every possible food source around the Encampment. Upon trying to swallow her bite, the rogue just didn't have it in her.

'Oh god, please. I'll face horrors of Tristram, I'll brave the depths of burial tombs, I'll withstand the fires of arcane sanctuary, just DON'T make me have to swallow this crap!'

Finding herself unable to cope with it, she found her previously digesting food about to erupt from her throat. Another rogue took notice quickly and as fast as she could shoot an arrow she forced open Tanya's mouth and pushed the chocking food down with her other free hand.

"No barfing! The food must be completely digested so we can re-fertilize the feces for second servings. Akara saw it on the Cooking Channel once, people in Japan do it all the time!"

Tanya nodded weakly and silently prayed that if there was indeed a higher presence in the cruel world of Sanctuary, it would bless her and either make the previously swallowed morsels rupture in her stomach and put her out of her misery, or send someone to bring vasts amounts of food to fulfill her nutritional needs, someone to give her hope for tommorow, indeed, she needed to be blessed with a hero! And the second after she had finished, suddenly her prayers had been answered, like in all things fiction.

Her stomach ruptured and she died.

The rogue who had previously force fed the now late Tanya cautiously poked her with a stick. Recieving the confirmation she was looking for, the woman looked at another rogue with eyes filled with sadness and regret and spoke a question of why things had to be.

"Are you SURE we can't eat her?"

The other rogue sighed and shook her head.

"Naw, we'll have to throw this one to the fallen, they've been asking for sacrifices lately. How else we keep this place safe?"

The rogue nodded mournfully, and went back to her fried spike fiend. A few momments later a portal halo'd with a magnificent blue rifted into the atmosphere. The skull of an undead sorcerous poked itself out.

"Never fear, food-ridden citizens of Rogue Encampment! We have come to rescue you from your hunger plight!"

She looked around curiously.

"Uh, we aren't too late, are we?"

One of the rogues took another glance at Dead Ms. Tanya, then looked back and shook her head. The common thought circulating around the rogues was if it was possible to gain nutrition by sucking the marrow out of the skeleton sorcerous' bones. Freaked out slightly by the looks directed at her, the skeleton shrugged and stepped out, motioning the others to follow. Vulture-like pairs of eyes widened as a line of revived creatures stepped out in a seemingly endless line, each carrying bundles of microwaved cow gut goodness under their arms. One fallen shaman sighed and looked at a zombie.

"Man, we go to get some food and we end up carrying the crap. This sucks."

"Shut up, Steve, we're supposed to have absolutely no will of our own."

"That just sucks even mor-aaagghhh..."

Their time on Sanctuary finally depleted, the reanimated hordes vanished as their souls returned to Arcane Sanctuary, leaving only the food. At last Ismodale stepped out with a smile of absolute triumph.

"Citizens of Rogue Encampment, it is I, your savior! You thought I was worthless, you thought I was evil, you thought I was horribly anorexic! You were fools to believe such things, for I have at this very momment put an end to the conflict that have plagued your-"

The long-winded Ismodale then took notice that no one was taking notice to him, only the food as they devoured their BigMac's, and even the plastic toys from the happy meals. Ismodale, ashen-faced, kicked at the ground.

"Ungrateful sons of bi-"

"Necromancer!"

Ismodale was interrupted from his hate-filled musings as he turned to face a panting and exhausted Kashya, even thought she must of only walked 3 meters to reach him.

"My rogue scouts have reported an abomination in the cemetary! Our rogue Blood Raven, who had previously fought Diablo and had one nice set of boob-I mean, nice set of bows, has been corrupted and is now reviving the dead! We must end this horror at once! And by "we" I mean only you and your batch of undead friends!"

Ismodale was about to tell her to shove it and deal with her own problems and sickeningly obvious sexual orientation, but then realized that in her current condition, she'd probobly be dead half way through Blood Moore. This would probobly piss Akara off, who Ismodale wagered was gay with Kashya. Ismodale kicked the ground again in frustration, he never got a chance to bask in his well deserved glory! Sighing, Ismodale turned to his companions.

"The momment's over, damn Kashya killed the magic. We gotta go to a graveyard and kill a rebel rogue."

Ismodale then thought over his statement. Rebel rogue? Wasn't that like a double negative or an oxymoron? Dammit, he couldn't wonder about such things right now. Without and further hesitation, Ismodale journeyed once more out of a now saved rogue encampment with his minions following and Laurence drawling a "poop" at times. Then, a few more steps outside the encamptment, Ismodale noticed the raven again. He knew there wasn't much diversity in the species, but he somehow knew this was the same as before.

"Minons, you notice anything strange about that raven?"

The sorcerous blinked, and nodded.

"Yeah, the thing keeps quothing, "Nevermore." It's weird."

"Not THAT raven, the other one!"

Ismodale impaled the false raven with a bonespear, which in barely audible gasps had quothed in its dying breath the word "nevermore". A zombie form of Edgar Allen Poe then appeared.

"Dammit, you crazy kids killed my inspiration!"

"Shut up and go back to being dead, Poe!"

Edgar muttered to himself various obsceneties and walked off. Anyways, after that completely unnesscary event, Ismodale pointed to the remaining bird.

"See? Look at its eyes!"

The raven raised its eyebrows, and then dissapeared in a puff of smoke. Hitler looked at Ismodale awkwardly.

"Mein gott, ach yeh mad? Drank too much cyanide? There be but one bird!"

The minions shook their heads in wonderment, and stalked off ahead whilst muttering things like "it's what reviving dead people do to you" and "he's seeing things, he really IS old" and "Poop" under their breath. The necromancer looked at them, and preformed his trademark sigh. No matter how many companians he had and how many qualities they carried, he'd always be alone. Bastards. Deciding to follow them a few momments later, the group then began their trek of killing meandering monsters until they passed the guard rogue and went into the Cold Plains. At least I think it's called that, if memory serves. After only a few steps our heroes found they had walked into a rogue corruption process...

About five rogues sat drooling at a television screen. On it read the words, "Andarial Happy Fun Time Show", and soon a figure of Andarial appeared. It then began to sing a song to the tune of the Barney classic, "I Love You", and the hypnotized rogues sang along.

"I hate you,

You serve me,

This is one big monarchy,

I will gut you if you don't do everything I say,

Then we can go and play all daaay..."

The rogues then started clapping and laughing hysterically. Ismodale cringed, so this was the TRUE horrors the Prime Evils could produce. He shook his head, the evil must STOP. Without further wait, Ismodale fired a barrage of bonespears at the television screen, creating a satisfying "bzzzt" noise, and ending Andarial's reing of terror...sort of. He then prepared to battle with the corrupted rogues, but they just stared at the t.v. blankly. Then, a tear carressed the now pale and lifeless cheek of one of them. A few momments later they were crying waterfalls.

"WAAAAAHHH! OH MEE GAWD! THEY KILLED HER! ANDARIAL'S DEAD! WE HAVE NO ONE TO SERVE! WE HAVE NO MORE REASON TO LIIIIVVEEE!"

They then smashed their heads in union against a nearby rock until they died. Life's a bitch. Ismodale shrugged impatiently, and motioned his minions to move on, for it appeared the graveyard was in site. They had to cut through large packs of beasts to get there, so it was slightly unnerving to find the cemetary completely...empty. Looking around, the Necromancer decided that if it was a trap, nothing was going to happen until he set it off, so what the hell. Stepping through tall gates long rusted with uncare and urine of various beasts in the local area, Ismodale didn't stop until he reached the center, and yet still nothing noteworthy occured. It was then that Ismodale locked eyes with large, beady red ones. The eyes of a raven. It was then that he knew...and realized that all his suspicions was not futile. He shot bone spears in lightning succession until he reached the point that he required a mana potion, yet the raven had woven through them all. How the hell could something so small and frail be so dexterous?

"Ismo, what the hell's up with you? I didn't know you had something against birds!

Ismodale waved a hand to silence the ignorant sorcerous, and motioned his group to observe as the raven slowly perched on top a gravestone which belonged to someone who's name had long been beaten away by relentless rain. It screeched inhumanely, and in a flash of light replaced its feathers with sickly skin, its wings with two arms and a bow, and its beak with a haunting grin. The raven had morphed itself into what could only be Blood Raven. She hopped down from the stone and glared at them with eyes that had long ago lost its life.

"Nevermore?"

A/N: Awww, did I leave you at a cliff hanger? Sorry, you're just gonna have to wait another year or two until I update again! Mwaaahahahahahaaaaa!


	4. Over The Top

Didn't think I'd ever update this ever, huh? Didn't ya! Well LOOKEY HERE. FIRST UPDATE IN A YEAR.

Disclaimer: I don't own Diablo, or the many long-dead historical figures riddled in this story. Nor do I own Painkiller, a game in which one of the monster's attacks I have blatantly stolen and put in this story. (For those that have played Painkiller, you'll know it when you read it.)

Chapter 4 (Or Chapter 3, because Chapter 1 MIGHT have been a prologue):

Over The Top

The Sorceress and Hitler were aghast at the transformation. Ismodale's reaction bordered on amused. Laurence found himself compelled to continue the running gag that wasn't even funny anymore, if it actually was to start with.

"Poop."

See? Not funny. Once the forever combusting hulk had finished its childish soliloquy, the Necromancer decided it was his duty to once again state the obvious.

"You're Blood Raven."

The Rogue-Rogue (it does sound cool, dammit) gave a wry grin to correspond with Ismodale's less than impressive detective work.

"Brilliant deduction, sleuth. Although I must say I am impressed you discovered my identity while I was still of avian physique (a shame you couldn't utilize your firepower and aim well enough to make a scratch). When did this epiphany occur, before or after you miraculously managed to shoot and hit the other bird?"

Ismodale tried his best to retain his stoic nature despite the "oh snaps" that were coming from behind his back. He hated people. Live or dead.

"I figured it out after my Stupid Bitch senses started tingling. And my sincerest apologies for not leading you to Hell while you had wings, nonetheless I am grateful that you assisted me by making a larger surface area for YOUR VITAL ORGANS!"

He spoke no more as a projectile of bone rocketed from his palm, the trajectory leading into the general direction of Blood Raven's heart. A second later it lodged itself in a tree and lost its blue aura, revealing that it didn't have a trace of blood on it. Seriously doubting that Blood Raven could turn into a tree among other things, Ismodale found his incredulity rewarded as the point of an arrow gently pressured on the back of his neck.

"Tut tut. You don't pick things up quickly, do you? My speed is still insanely superior to anything you or Trang'Oul could muster."

"You would have done better never to utter negativities against my master, who is also yours, wench. Minions! Assistance!"

He looked desperately at his small entourage of allies, who in turn glanced at each other, then began to simultaneously back away slowly. _Bastards_, Ismodale thought. Blood Raven felt it was convenient to take another jab at the necromancer's pride.

"Well, it appears that those who rule with cruelty and an iron fist are bound to be betrayed some day, does it not?"

"Actually this sort of thing happens bi-weekly, and I'm quite used to it."

"How sad for you."

"I accept and appreciate your pity. In return for your sympathy I'll give…POISON NOVA!"

Upon detonating himself in an expanding circle of venom, he felt the pain of the arrow leave his neck and heard a stifled gasp of surprise. Moments later, Blood Raven reappeared in his field of vision, albeit at a safer distance than before.

"Oh come on, that was even slower then your last spell!"

"Well, if I can't hit you with any of my own offensive power, I suppose you wouldn't see the harm in me using some supplies…"

Blood Raven cocked eyebrow inquired more clarity on the statement.

"You see, for me, a graveyard is like a warehouse full of them."

Instead of wasting more time with idle talk, Ismodale instead set his vocals to the task of chanting. After a series of incomprehensible murmurs, tongue clicks, and what sounded suspiciously like the opening lyrics to the Brady Bunch, a legion of twelve or so skeletal bondsmen sprang from the earth and fell under his guidance. The necromancer's former allies now observed the newcomers, and decided that THIS was the confidence boost they needed to get into the fighting spirit. Blood Raven, however, appeared undeterred.

"Well, I suppose I should now appreciate my foresight when I prepared…this."

At her signal, a reanimated army of fifty or so fresh (if you could even call them that) zombies trudged into view from behind the trees. Ismodale mused as to how it was possible to keep horde of that size and magnitude hidden from human senses, but he then rationalized that being a Rogue-Rogue was explanation enough. But his rationality continued to tick until he realized he still had the upper hand.

"Fine, so you have a…substantial back-up, Blood Raven. However it seems your zombies have a walking rate only _slightly _better than actual dead people, and that a fair portion of my skeletons are mages. Your numbers will be reduced to zero before your zombies even come into range to attack with whatever…remains of their limbs."

Blood Raven allowed herself to have a hearty laugh (but still a hollow one, y'know, her being evil and all).

"Once again you show an ecstatic display of your own incompetence, death-worker. I'll let the actions that are about to unfold speak for themselves."

Ismodale's forces stood awestruck as the zombies, in union, stuck their withered claws into their abdomens and tore out a handful of their own rotted innards. Even Ismodale himself was slightly mortified at the recent events, and he thought he was as used to living corpses as mentally possible. In retrospect, he didn't understand why he hadn't reacted sooner, but only continued to gaze like a dumb cow as the zombies strained their organ infested appendages behind them…and then catapulted it straight at the gazer.

"GET DOWN!"

The necromancer yelled, instinct rushing through his veins as he rushed his tongue to chant faster and slammed his hands into the ground, summoning up a bone wall as high as he could muster. All flying stomach missiles were effectively stopped by the shield of the damned. Ismodale breathed a sigh of relief and rested his back against his inanimate savior. His reprieve from panic was short-lived, however, as his ears detected a light hissing noise, similar to the air being let slowly out of a balloon. Then he spotted an unmistakable green mist seep through the bottom of his wall. Poison. _Of course_.The organs were poisoned. He tried to distance himself from the gas as fast as he could while a few of his minions ran senselessly, their bones disintegrating upon contact with the acid. One skeleton cradled his equally skeletal companion, who was already half melted.

"Frankie…oh God why did it have to get you!"

"Phil…I-I'm not gonna make it."

"Frank, calm down, just don't talk! Save your breath!"

"Oh screw it man! We don't have lungs anyways! I just…I just got one last request…"

"Anything Phil, just tell me, anything."

"Please…tell my wife…Margaret…that I love her…and I'm sorry I couldn't come home."

"Uh, gee, I would Frankie. But, uh, you're wife has been dead for about a millennia now."

"Oh. Dang."

Frankie then crumpled into dust.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(insert remaining Darth Vader cry here)"

Ismodale finally reached an area safe from the spreading poison. Of course, this wouldn't be the case in a matter of seconds, but at least he had yet to breath any of it in. The bulk of his forces, however, were faring much worse.

"FIRE BACK YOU MORONS! Or would you like to wait until you die a SECOND time!"

The remaining battle-ready skeletons responded to the order, blasting continuous rounds of elemental imbued energy and decimating countless zombies. But Blood Raven's undead had been advancing ever since the first volley of poisoned guts, and were not being killed nearly fast enough. At the least twenty or so would reach the bone barrier unscathed. This was more than enough to break through the wall and clean up the remains of the Ismodale's crew.

"Too far unplanned, Necromancer, too far unplanned."

His teeth grit as he knew that Blood Raven's predictions were accurate. His only choices were death or…well, it was always difficult to give the order. To send his men to No Man's Land…wait, what was he talking about? They were his MINIONS, like he even gave a crap! Man, being a necromancer was sweet.

"Alright, OVER THE TOP!"

The skeletal mages were relieved that their warrior counterparts could now pick up the slack, while the warriors themselves were, well, horrified to say the least. However they had no will of their own, and were forced to comply. Swords clashed with decomposed flesh, and guttural moans mixed with chattering and high-pitched shrieks. The zombies should've overwhelmed the skeletons by the sheer force in their numbers, however their fighting prowess was shot down tremendously when they realized that said skeletons didn't have any brains. Thus, a stalemate occurred. Ismodale analyzed that it was the opportune moment to enter the fight and give the nudge that would break the tie in his favor. Unluckily for him as he jumped over the bone wall and locked eyes with Blood Raven, he realized that she had been thinking the same thing.

The noise of warfare fell on deaf ears as their oracles only received sounds of their own ragged breaths. They threw caution to the wind and outright ignored the risk of standing at the center of the battle, almost certain to be caught in the crossfire. Inherently they knew that the only variables that could be considered a threat were each other. Ismodale sucked in his breath, wondering if he could survive long enough to breathe it back out.

"Let's go."

At his signal, they both sprinted away from the battle, neck-in-neck, all the while trading shots at one another. Ismodale knew she had the advantage of both projectile speed and accuracy as her all her arrows grazed his armor and skin, while his bone spears didn't even come close to touching her. His adrenaline began draining from him, and he knew that she saw it. Running while conjuring spells was naturally more fatigue-inducing than running while shooting arrows. Finally his sprint slowed to the pace where she knew her arrow wouldn't miss, and she grinned while she prepared to propel the object that would snatch his life away, but was interrupted when both of them ran into a tree.

"Owww. SHIT, WHY DID WE DECIDE TO RUN BLINDLY IN THE MIDDLE OF A FORES—"

She abruptly ended her complaint when she realized that they were still fighting, and pulled back her arrow, pointing it at him just in time to see his glowing hand directed at her. Both of them froze.

"My arrow is faster. You won't live if we fire."

"True. But at this close of a distance you won't be able to dodge after you shoot, either. Even if I die first, you'll die later."

"So how do you propose we end this?"

"A duel."

"We JUST had one."

"Not that kind, whore. A stand-off. You know, western style."

Blood Raven grimaced.

"You mean with the cowboys?"

"Yes, the cowboys."

Blood Raven hesitated. Then, gradually, nodded her consent. Shortly after picking themselves up, the sorceress, Hitler, and Laurence surrounded them. Ismodale assessed that they were all that remained from the horrible excuse of undead semi-trench warfare. Though weary from the previous fight, they still prepared for some unfair gang-banging homicide on Blood Raven. He mentally willed them to stop.

"Don't. We're going to settle this our own way."

The sorceress was going to inquire (loudly) his reasons for proposing their inactivity, but then decided that it was probably some stupid Necromancer's Code, and decided to leave him be.

As Ismodale and Blood Raven stood back to back, a setting sun would've been a perfect addition to the scenery. But the sun never shined in the Cold Plains…or anywhere around the Rogue Encampment, for that matter.

"We take a step ever two seconds until we reach ten paces, then we turn around and kill each other."

"Enjoy your last twenty seconds of life then, Necromancer."

He ignored the threat, and they began to slowly walk away from their could-be killer. On the fifth step, Blood Raven grinned maliciously and leaked out her thoughts to omniscient readers such as yourselves. _Fool, he should know better than to engage in some "honorable" battle…with a demon_. On her seventh step, Blood Raven forsook everything Ismodale had previously said and turned while shooting an arrow at his spine. There was a sharp "clink" and her eyes widened to discover that it was not the sound of her arrow piercing his armor, but the sound of said arrow being caught by a sea of bones, rotating in swirls around their summoner. The Bone Shield.

"Oh. You cheated. I am absolutely paralyzed with shock."

He said in a mocking tone, then countered her treachery by breaking the rules himself. Turning around, he fired a blast from his hand. Blood Raven expected it to be a bone spear, and so she prepared herself to dodge it. Her eyes widened as the spell shot out towards her faster than usual. Just as it flew past her nimble form, however, she realized with a glance that it didn't look like a bone spear. It was a large grayish mass of…something. It didn't even touch her, and yet she could still feel it momentarily suck out any joy or liveliness that her body contained. The feeling of absolute emptiness passed as soon as the missile reached a certain distance, and her body was now replaced with the normal feeling of SLIGHTLY less absolute emptiness.

"What the hell was that? Not that I care THAT much, since I dodged it anyways. Pathetic."

"You're unfamiliar with that spell? I'll leave you two to get acquainted, then."

"What are you-"

Her inquiry was cut short as she felt what could only be described as…death…impact into her body from behind. She had already died, so she knew the feeling. But she wasn't dead. So she was hit by death but was still alive? She loathed the oxymorons that her mind was producing in order to comprehend what had happened to her, so she opted to let the Necromancer explain, if he so desired. And he did.

"The spell I used on you was a bone spirit. It is essentially the ethereal manifestation of Trang'Oul's hunger. It still hit you when you dodged it because it follows the scent of your spirit, making it a homing missile of sorts. The more tastier or heavier scented the soul, the faster the spell approaches. That means your inner life force was a particularly delicious one. Alas, it devours a portion of your soul upon impact, and that's usually enough to kill most lesser creatures. Some monstrosities can still survive with pieces of their soul no longer existent, but it's usually not even what most would call "living" by then."

Ismodale reminisced on an incident in Rathma when an accident happened to a group of necromancers while they were practicing spellcasting. One was hit by an uncontrolled bone spirit, and was turned into an empty shell of a human, vegetable-like. What was her name again? Like, Terra Sheevo? He shook off the thought and continued his lesson on Necromancy 101.

"Anyways, while most cases are like the ones I previously described…there are exceptions. In fact, you were just hit with a bone spirit yourself and yet you still seem to be keeping your motor skills. This is rare. Usually survivors just foam from the mouth and start spazing into an epileptic seizure. Do you feel any different? Like, you used to feel a certain emotion, or fixation with something, that you no longer have?"

Blood Raven thought deeply to try to note any changes in herself. Now that he mentioned it…before being hit she had felt an overbearing loathing and prejudice for any sort of human or non-evils. Actually, she just felt hate in general, really. Currently, she felt like she could actually smile again. Truly smile. The part of her soul that was devoured by that attack…must have been the part that had been seduced by evil and caused her to become corrupt in the first place! And now that it was gone…she was…good, once again? Yes, maybe she could make things right, rejoin the rogues, and fight on the side of righteousness once again! Now she had what she hadn't felt in a long time…hope.

Her mouth slowly contorted to a smile, and it was genuine. A bone spear then penetrated her brain, killing her instantly. Ismodale's minions glared at the perpetrator with utter shock and disbelief. He in turn shrugged.

"What? It was obvious that due to her lack of response, that she was suffering to such an extreme degree, she was unable to speak. I just put her out of her misery, that's all."

They shook their heads in dismay at his explanation, and turned to walk away, muttering things like "Sadistic bastard…", or "He wouldn't know what mercy was if it bit him in the face…", or "How much you want to bet that that's how his mother died?" or even, "His mother is dead?", and lastly, "Poop." Ismodale shook his head. They just don't understand a good deed when they see one. Still, that wasn't the only reason he killed Blood Raven. He motioned for his minions to not return to the Encampment yet.

"Wait. I need to follow through with a…family ritual, of sorts."

The sorceress tilted her skull to the side.

"Family? I assumed you weren't conceived in a womb, but rather created as the human embodiment of all the hatred and evil that exists in this world. Or the Anti-Christ."

Ismodale gave her the "Shut the Hell Up" look, and turned to everyone's favorite fleshless fascist (alliteration FTW!).

"Adolf, you know my last name, do you not?"

"Ach, et vas…Shpinspiel or sometheen?"

Ismodale sighed at his servant's lack of memory and legible speech patterns.

"It's Spinespeak. And there's a reason for it, too."

"Poop."

"Yeah, just…watch."

He kneeled next to the face-down corpse of Blood Raven. He gave a heavy exhale (I'm tired of writing "sigh" all the time). Things were going to get a…tad messy from here on out. Not to mention semi-suicidal. Ismodale Spinespeak mentally slapped himself due to his irrational uneasiness. After all, what did he have to be apprehensive about? He just described the entire Necromancy curriculum.

End Notes: Yeah. I updated. I believe the next chapter will be coming up soon, because I have ideas for it ahead of time (surprisingly), but remember, no guarantees. I live to disappoint, you know. But enough with discussion of the future, I've got some more things to say.

I was seriously considering re-editing my previous chapters because, well, they were written several years ago. And they suck. So people read the first chapter, are scared off by its suckage, and don't bother reading the chapters that are tolerable. I don't want that. On the other hand, I'm massively lazy. So you can decide if you want me to edit previous chapters, or just want me to write new ones. I listen to the opinions of the PEOPLE, dangit. Just write your opinion in a review or something, if you have one.

Secondly, I'd like to apologies to anyone I have offended due to any of my fic's references to…uh, stuff. I'm sure you'll know what offends you.

Above all else though, I haven't played Diablo II in years. You probably haven't, either. I'm probably NOT going to play Diablo II again. That means that I'm not going to know the names of some areas, how some of the quests are done, or even what some spells do. For example, Bone Spirit. I said that it was the physical manifestation of Trang'Oul's hunger, but I read somewhere that it's actually just the magical essence of some hungry dead guy's ghost. That's not cool. Trang'Oul is cool. So that's how the spell's gonna work in MY story. And if I screw up anything (area names, skill names, names of npc's, etc.) feel free to leave me a review detailing what I screwed up on. Don't be shy, I'm used to it.

So for the four or five people that's ever going to read this, you now KNOW what to do. God bless ye.


	5. Spinal Damage

Normally I would apologize profusely for the huge span of time that it took me to update. But I know that only two or three people continue reading this, so I don't really feel that remorseful. Sorry, two or three people.

On another note, this chapter is more dark and serious than the previous ones. If you're looking for a bundle of gags and cracks, you won't find it in this chapter. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I don't own Diablo.

Chapter 5

Spinal Damage

As Ismodale gazed at the recently made cadaver that was Blood Raven, he took a moment to make sure that all traces of sympathy were banished from his soul. This was, of course, one of the most unnecessary precautions a Necromancer could take.

"Adolf, give me your sickle."

The already loose jaw of the dead dictator slackened to the point where it made a resounding "click" upon hitting his ribcage. Due to the lack of facial flesh and muscles, what just transpired could mean a number of expressions. He could be beginning to speak, he could be starting to laugh, he could have forgotten that he was dead and had tried to inhale a wisp of oxygen, or he could simply have felt the urge to burst into song. Despite the numerous possibilities, his companions could pretty much _tell _that what Hitler was feeling right now was simply absolute horror.

"Nein!"

Ismodale brought his fingers to his temple. The reluctance of his slave was not entirely unexpected. Free will ran loose not only in Hitler, but all his other significant minions. He had never been terribly talented in summoning.

"Just do it, or have you forgotten who your soul belongs to?"

"Es ist notwendig! Noch einmal suchen Sie, Ihre Seele zu verkaufen!"

"I have no fucking idea what you're trying to say."

Along with summoning, tolerance for insubordination has also not been included in the Necromancer's rather small list of fortes. Hitler immediately recognized the empty essence and vocal patterns now being conducted by Ismodale to be that of an un-summoning spell, and daftly dropped his weapon to the ground in submission. He then ran a few yards away, deemed it to be a useable surface area, and crouched in the fetal position. Laurence glanced at Hitler, then at Ismodale, then back at Hitler and so forth until he found himself phwooshing in realization.

"_Oh_, poop".

The fire golem then proceeded to more or less mimic the actions of his undead comrade. The Sorceress pondered for a moment. There was no doubt that since being raised by the bastard Necromancer, her life had been anything but normal. But the recent events following her arrival to Rogue Encampment had been abnormal to the point where she half expected the world to swallow itself in order to cover up the paradox. Before her predicted Apocalypse, she wanted to at least know a few things.

"Okay, what are you about to do that makes a stick-up-the-ass former fascist leader of a war-hungry nation cower in fear, and drive Laurence to say more than one word?"

"Discussing it at any time or place is considered to be more or less taboo. We Necromancers enjoy our secrecy."

"No kidding."

"However, being a visual witness to it isn't necessarily forbidden. Alas, it does push the fine line between what is and isn't "acceptable" in a world where fast-food joints rest in caverns inhabited by helldemons and zombies fight with their own internal organs, so I really suggest you follow suite with your peers. Savvy?"

"…I'm staying."

The Necromancer shook his hand as he bent down to pick up the discarded blade. The fool. Regrets could occur even after you're dead. Nevertheless, it was now work time. In one swift motion, Ismodale carved an opening through Blood Raven's back, and wrenched out her spine with his other hand (A/N: Probably anatomically impossible, I realize). The Sorceress didn't even remember to scream.

"OH MY GOD HAVE YOU NO RESPECT FOR THE DEA—WHAT AM I SAYING OF COURSE YOU HAVE NO RESPECT YOU FREAKING FREAK OF—"

She then promptly fainted into a state where, though she was unconscious, she would still find no peace. Ismodale gave her little regard as he watched the building block of bone dangle loosely from his fingers. There are times where you don't realize how glad you are to be wearing gauntlets. But that was only phase one. Pausing for a second in hesitation and for the sake of grimacing, Ismodale then proceeded to shove the spine headfirst (er, the part that was connected to the head) down his esophagus. His gag reflex was going berserk, but he had to hold out a little longer until things could take effect. The bile that was threatening to erupt from his throat was now gradually being suppressed by the blue hue of Trang'Oul's magic. He felt the fibers of his being slowly begin to drift and sink into the bones he held half dangling from his jaws, causing him to fall on his knees. As things began to grow dark around him, the naturally panicked instincts began to rapidly think of the consequences that would occur if he screwed up the ritual. If he hadn't applied enough spiritual energy to the spine, if he hadn't enveloped enough of it, if he hadn't—

Thud.

He was dead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a small cube-shaped room of what seemed to be steel and iron, the groggy eyelids of Blood Raven peeled open. The first thing she beheld was the man who killed her.

"Hello, Blood Raven."

"YOU!!!" She screeched, reflexively trying to raise her hand to claw out his throat.

Her arm crashed into an invisible barrier just inches from Ismodale's face. The pain that the impact inflicted upon her limb, plus the sadistic grin that alighted the Necromancer's face, convinced Blood Raven that any more action of resistance would be futile.

"Why…am I here? This is not Arcane Sanctuary."

Ismodale's smile vanished, and his voice held not a hint of glee.

"Your final destination has been postponed. I interrupted the transfer of your soul and brought you to this location, using this as a medium." Ismodale then nonchalantly held up Blood Raven's spine.

The rogue gasped in horror, then frantically felt around her back. The emptiness her hands grasped caused Blood Raven to howl in fury.

"What…WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?! What are you trying to DO TO ME?! All this sacrilege…for what ends are they intended to meet, NECROMANCER!!?"

He threw up a hand to silence her, then indulged her desperate queries.

"This place that I have ensnared your soul is known as the Vah'Sereen. It is an isolated plane of existence that rests between life and death. I had to suffer a fatal case of asphyxiation in order to bring you here. You may consider this a sort of purgatory, as we are both dead. You…by my bone…"

He raised her spine higher.

"…And I by yours."

The knowledge of their environment only drove her curiosity further.

"Why?! What madness has driven you to take your own life! What could you possibly gain from such a sin!?"

"ANSWERS!!!" Ismodale bellowed, advancing toward Blood Raven's quivering body.

"You see, rogue, I have carried a heavy suspicion for a long time. I was originally sent to that godforsaken encampment by the Council of Rathma in order to help those bumbling females contain what was said to be a small demon infestation. What confronted me far exceeded my expectations. Those creatures were smarter, more organized, more numerous. More than what a band of mindless hellspawned midgets are possibly capable of conceiving! No, they are being controlled. They have a higher power. I'm thinking…"

He spared Blood Raven a sidelong glance.

"…Lesser Evil. Andarial, where is she?"

"How did you discern the true cause so--"

"Next time you should inform your superiors not to hold Rogue Corruption processes in PLAIN SIGHT, you daft whore! Now…where. Is. Andarial?"

"Do you think I would talk!? I already await severe punishment in the fires of Hell for my failure to kill you…if I were to give you vital information…the torment would be increased ten-fold."

Ismodale grimaced at Blood Raven's defiance, but he had already perceived that she would take this course of action.

"You will talk. As I'm sure you already know from your failure to harm me, I have a certain amount of control over this realm. One is that I am completely invulnerable to my prisoner, the second is that the only tool I have at my disposal is the spine which I used to bring us here."

Once more, he flashed her stolen backbone before her eyes.

"I can shape shift your spine into any object I please. The only limitation is that it has to be an object your brain has once conceptualized over. For example, if I were to have performed this ritual on a mouse, I would likely conjure nothing more from its spine than a piece a cheese. Now, let's see here…"

The spine clutched in Ismodale's hand suddenly morphed into a sickly bladed contraption, riddled with razors and barbs.

"Ah, you're certainly more imaginative than most, hm?"

Blood Raven gritted her teeth as she imagined the grotesque instrument carving into her flesh, but she chose not to falter.

"Whatever tortures you could possible produce here is nothing to what I will receive for betraying the Evil, Necromancer."

He couldn't argue with her reasoning. Frustrated, Ismodale closed his eyes and clenched the now reverted spine more tightly, as if searching for something within the bone. A macabre smirk that graced his lips signified that he found it. Concentrating his control over the atmosphere, the spine in his hand began to take the form of…a human woman.

Blood Raven's eyes widened in recognition at the figure that now stood before her.

"Ph…Pherra?!"

The young woman that Blood Raven identified stood frozen in place, a jovial smile permanently graced her pretty features. Ismodale maliciously graced her cheek.

"Quite a beautiful creature, isn't she?"

"Keep your hands off of her, YOU MONSTER!!" Blood Raven wailed, invoking a wider grin on the Necromancer's face.

"Ah, I see she still means a lot to you, doesn't she? Yes, she was your prime ally when you fought the hordes of Hell, never leaving your side. Your most devoted comrade…or was she possibly even more?"

At his command, the once suspended face of Pherra suddenly sprang to life, and her smile brightened as she began to speak.

"…I love you, Raven."

Blood Raven could not hide herself as a blush blossomed on her pale cheeks.

"Yes…quite the relationship you two shared. I wonder, what ever became of your lover?"

In the next instant, Pherra's chest exploded in a spray of blood, bones, and organs. Her smile still remained on her face as her body fell lifelessly to the ground. If the plane they were secluded on had any attachment to the real world, everyone in Sanctuary could have heard Blood Raven's scream.

"Now do you UNDERSTAND the means I am capable of using, witch?!"

The corpse of Pherra suddenly reformed back to her previous living self, only to be killed again by Ismodale moments after.

"Please, please for the love of God stop!" Blood Raven begged, shutting her eyes.

"You can't escape this! Close your eyes, and you'll still hear her screams. Cover your ears, and you'll still smell the piss and the shit. Plug your nose, and you'll still feel the warmth of her blood showering your flesh…"

"I'LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING!!!" Blood Raven finally caved, hugging her knees as she shrunk into a ball wracked with sobbing.

Ismodale consented, willing Pherra to revert back into a normal spine.

"Now, tell me the location of Andarial."

Blood Raven nodded pitifully.

"S-she resides in her lair, in the deepest level of the Catacombs. H-here."

Blood Raven bit into her index finger, then used the blood to trace out a rather intricate map on the ground. Ismodale nodded in approval and quickly committed her makeshift directions to memory.

"Good. Now tell me, is Andarial the top of the hierarchy? Is she the root of this new infestation of evil?"

Blood Raven bit her bottom lip, unable to stop shaking in the wake of the betrayal that the Necromancer was forcing her to perform.

"…She isn't, is she?"

"N-n-no. The true herald of this uprising is…"

She looked pleadingly into Ismodale's eyes for a reprieve, but she was only met with a cold, calculating countenance.

"…The Lord of Terror."

"Impossible!"

"Yes…he has risen again. The Rogue Encampment isn't even one of his remote interests…which is why he only positioned a Lesser Evil like Andarial to overlook the dominion. In fact, he probably would never have bothered with the rogues at all, except in the general area of the Rogue Encampment…lies a mystic passage to Tristram."

The Necromancer raised his eyebrows at this confession.

"I can see how Diablo may have some bitter resentment to the town of Tristram, but why would he view it as a threat? Going so far as to detaining an entire civilization because they know a way of passage into it?"

"It's not the town he's concerned with! Rather…one of its denizens…"

The Necromancer's jaw dropped.

"Deckard Caine."

"…The Horadrim knows much, especially from his experiences with Diablo's previous uprising. He's one of the few people in Sanctuary that the Prime Evil actually deems a threat. Diablo's plan was to first cut off anyone from entering and exiting Tristram, then when he gained back enough power, he would lay siege to the town, killing Caine in the process."

"And when do you estimate this attack will take place?"

Blood Raven shut her eyes in thought.

"…Probably now."

Ismodale cursed.

"Salaschiel! He must be warned…I need to leave immediately."

The Necromancer swiftly turned, and marched towards a wall, hand outstretched. Slowly, the frame of what appeared to be a door began to form.

"Wait!" cried Blood Raven, breaking Ismodale's concentration. He turned irritably toward her.

"What?"

"If…if you leave…what will happen to me?"

"This plane will cease to be, and your soul will also be free to continue its course…to its final destination."

The rebel rogue never looked more crestfallen.

"P-please…don't leave yet. I…I'm not ready to go…and face…what I have wrought."

Ismodale Spinespeak did not know what triggered it. Why after years of stoic indifference and coldness, his emotional mindscape seemed to shift in an entirely different direction. No one who ever knew or came in contact with the Necromancer would know either. But somehow, something in Ismodale softened.

"I don't think you should worry."

Blood Raven raised her tear streaked face way from her hands.

"…What?"

"All the sins and evils you committed occurred when you were corrupted, a state where you had little to no control of yourself. No one can withstand a direct corruption process from a demon of Andarial's caliber, and your descent into evil was nothing short of inevitable, if Diablo had his sights set in you."

"…What are you getting at, Necromancer?"

"You're simply a casualty. Before your corruption you had fought valiantly against the darkness, an act of bravery that probably got you targeted by Diablo in the first place. You should not have to be punished for having good intentions. I don't know how that Archangel Tyrael goes about things…but I heard he's merciful. If you're sent to eternal damnation in spite of having no choice in what happened to you…then all that holy shit that Paladins spout is even more hypocritical than I realized, and…and…"

Ismodale could hardly believe the words that were flying from his lips.

"…and I'll do something to change it."

Blood Raven gazed speechlessly at the man, stunned by his uncharacteristic act of reassurance. Absorbing his speech carefully and fully…she began to form a genuine smile again. And this smile didn't end with a bonespear to the head.

"Necromancer. Thank you."

Ismodale simply nodded, then fully opened the portal in front of him, letting a magnificent ray of light bathe over him.

"God, it's too damn bright." He muttered, eliciting a small giggle behind him.

Unable to conceal a grin himself, the Necromancer stepped forward, exiting the Vah'Sereen, which began to fade away, in all its insignificant glory.

But the echo of Blood Raven's giggle would forever remain.

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End Notes: Undead Dearest is going to go through a transition of sorts. As in, it's probably going to be more serious. Of course, I'll still try to keep witty dialogue and ironically funny situations, but you won't be seeing retardedly improbable crap like McDonald's restaurant knockoffs in a cave of evil. I think this is in part due to changes in maturity in the passing years. I just don't find that stuff funny anymore.

If you fear that Laurence will suddenly have a huge grasp of the English vocabulary, and will start speaking as eloquently as Frankenstein's monster, rest assured that his speaking habits will still be limited to one or two words.

Because stupid humor is nonetheless still humor.

Reviews are always welcome. Hm, while we're on that topic, I was thinking of changing to the rating back to T. Because let's face it, does anyone REALLY remember to switch the fiction display to "Fiction Rating: All" all the time? A lot of decent fics get passed by because of this, and it's a damn shame.

I'm not sure if a violent and profanity filled story like this can scoot by with a T rating, but I'll be damned if I don't try.


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